


To Call Myself Beloved

by i_claudia



Category: Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-22
Updated: 2009-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:44:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_claudia/pseuds/i_claudia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marriage, Alanna discovers, is very much like work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Call Myself Beloved

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ignatia, who gave me the prompt: _Alanna and George; pre-kids, post-marriage, still getting used to each other_.
> 
> Originally posted on LJ [here](http://i-claudia.livejournal.com/31187.html). (22 September 2009)
> 
>  
> 
> _And did you get what  
>  you wanted from this life, even so?  
> I did.  
> And what did you want?  
> To call myself beloved, to feel myself  
> beloved on the earth._  
> (“Late Fragment,” Raymond Carver)

The barony of Pirate’s Swoop is smaller than Trebond in nearly every way, laughably tiny compared to Corus, and under normal circumstances Alanna wouldn’t give it a second glance. The keep is unremarkable, the village not much more than a few meandering streets with thatched cottages and chickens running everywhere, and the outer wall is crumbling in a few places. In any other situation, Alanna would have maybe stopped to water her horse at the well before riding by it and never thinking about it again.

Of course these, she thinks, dismounting and stretching to ease the kinks out of her back, are hardly ordinary circumstances.

She’s barely been here a minute but already the stable hands are everywhere, taking the reins, bowing deferentially and quickly relieving her of everything she’s carrying. She scowls at the one trying unobtrusively to take the small pack she’s just unbuckled from her saddle, and he shrinks back, finding other things to do.

A familiar laugh echoes out through the courtyard, and Alanna turns to see George standing in the door of the keep.

“Terrorizin’ everyone already?” he calls out, amused, and she blushes despite herself, which only serves to make his grin even wider as he comes down the steps.

“No,” she retorts tartly. “I am perfectly capable of carrying my own things, you know.”

“I know,” he murmurs when he reaches her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “You’re the Lioness, the King’s Champion; you can do anything.”

“That’s right,” she says with a pert grin to cover the strange feeling stuck somewhere in her throat. 

They stand looking at each other for a moment, smiling dopily.

“Welcome to Pirate’s Swoop, Lioness,” George says at last, enfolding her in his big arms. She clings to him, all the weariness of her journey from Corus falling finally away as she listens to his steady heartbeat. “Would you like to survey your domain, or would you prefer a bath?” he asks, voice rumbling in his chest. 

“That depends,” she says without moving. “Are you going to show me around the place, or am I going to have to terrorize one of these poor men into doing it?”

“I wouldn’t dream of inflictin’ you on them,” George tells her gravely. “But before anything else happens I have to do something first.”

With that he bends her over, one hand sliding down to support her back, and kisses her deeply, seriously, until the word is focused entirely on them, on the places they connect, and she stops breathing at the beauty they contain.

“It’s bad form to be late to your own honeymoon,” he says after letting her go.

“I’m sorry,” she says, still breathless, unable to stop the old sting of guilt from twisting anew at the bottom of her stomach. “Things came up.”

“They always do,” he says, but there’s no real accusation in his words, and he slips an arm around her waist, guiding her toward the keep. “Don’t worry yourself about it,” he says, voice low, just for her. “I knew when I fell in love with you that I’d never have you all to myself. You’re too big for me to steal you from the world.” He knows her too well after all these years, she thinks ruefully, but her heart lifts at the thought.

“You have me now,” she says, giving him a squeeze. “I’m always yours first, before anywhere else.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, but she can feel the happiness in him, the relief at her words.

*

They last about five minutes at the lavish table in the too-large dining room before filling plates and running off to one of the towers, hiding from servants along the way.

“I haven’t done that for years,” Alanna laughs, leaning back against the wall and looking out at the pale orange of the fading sunset.

“I’ve been doin’ it for a week,” George says glumly. “I tried to make them stop calling me ‘Baron’ too, but they won’t.”

Alanna reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. “You’ll have to get used to it sometime.”

George sighs and grabs her wrist, sliding his hand until their fingers are intertwined. “I know, lass,” he says. “I just don’t much care for all the fuss.”

“You never did,” Alanna says, letting him pull her snug against his chest. She cranes her head back to look up at his face. “I promise to let you know if you get unbearably stuffy and start talking about lineages.”

George makes a horrified sort of face. “Gods, please,” he says feelingly. “I’d never live it down if my wife were off killing monsters and I was sat at home worryin’ over the Book of Gold.”

“Somehow I don’t think you’ll run that risk,” Alanna replies. “Not with what you’ll be doing for Jon and Myles.” He shifts, uncomfortable, and she gives his hand a squeeze. “George,” she starts, trying to be gentle but not quite sure how to go about it. “This is going to be good. It’ll be fine.”

He dips his head to press a soft kiss into her hair. “I know,” he sighs again. “I know.”

They sit in silence, their dinner long since gone cold beside them, and watch the constellations come out one by one.

*

Marriage, Alanna discovers, is very much like work. It isn’t as if she and George rushed into things; they’ve known each other for years, lived together despite Coram’s disapproving looks, fought together. It’s just them, the same as always, really, but somehow it’s different now that they’ve promised each other, now that vows have been exchanged. The thought still makes Alanna a little uneasy, but the instinct to run, to fly back and live with the Bazhir or take a command on the northern border is manageable, an itch at the back of her skull she can ignore.

George, she thinks, will always be a little uneasy in his new life on the right side of the law; she suspects Myles thinks so as well, since the amount of work on the ground he’s given George leaves him too busy to feel sorry for himself. 

She’s glad for that in another way as well: she knows George will never pressure her, never so much as dream of it, but it’s more than clear already that he will be ready to have children far before she wants to even consider the idea.

*

They have arguments now and then over small things – which parts of the wall need mending first, the proper way to sharpen a sword as opposed to a dagger, whether or not to build a new shelter for the pigs for the coming winter – but it’s a month before they have their first real, spectacularly horrible fight. Afterward, Alanna doesn’t even remember what started it, exactly; it seemed to build for days before it finally broke loose in a storm of accusations and tears and hurled pitchers shattering against the walls.

They sulk on opposite ends of the palace for nearly a week. Alanna uses the time to practice her footwork, lunging at imaginary opponents with grim pleasure so she won’t have to think about anything other than the ache in her muscles. She’s afraid to wake up from the dream her life has become, afraid that she’s made a terrible decision.

The fury fades, given time and the shortness of her patience with being cooped up out of spite, and she starts remembering all the reasons she fell in love with George to begin with, starts remembering the way his smile goes crooked on one side and the way he always seems to know when to bother her and when to leave her be.

It takes her another day to work up the courage to find George, and she nearly turns around twice – self-righteous anger is just so much _easier_ than apologizing – but when she finds him in his study, staring out the window at the sea, the slump in his shoulders tells her she made the right decision.

“George?” she hazards, and he spins around, not quite able to hide the relief on his face before he frowns.

“Look,” she says, cutting him off before he can open his mouth. There’s only so much courage she has for things like this. Sometimes she wonders if she used all her courage up already, fighting for Tortall. “I’m not good at this yet, this marriage... thing, but I’d like to learn. I am learning,” she corrects herself. “And I think,” she pauses, looking at him, trying to measure his reaction, “I’m pretty sure I’m far enough along toward hopelessly in love with you to stick around and get better at it.”

His smile is the most welcome thing she’s ever seen. “I guess I could stand some more practice, too, if you’ll have me,” he says, and opens his arms.

They stand there, wrapped around each other, and watch the fishermen come home, sails dotting the cove and glowing in the light of evening. They go home every night to a family, Alanna thinks, to a wife and children. She firms her shoulders, standing tall in the circle of George’s arms. _If they can do it, so can we_.


End file.
